


Adrift (Dreaming)

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Dream Sex, Dreams, M/M, Masturbation, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel dreams of Dean and wakes aching for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adrift (Dreaming)

The waves wash over him, pull him under, and he is adrift at their mercy. The water is warm, cradling his body, rocking him soothingly (gentle rolling waves). Some part of his mind is aware that he is dreaming, but he doesn’t particularly care. This dream comes to him most nights, like a way-station before he reaches the deeper parts of his subconscious. He is adrift on the sea, and the currents will carry him where they must. 

It isn’t always the nightmares that have him bolting awake, sweating and twisted in his bed sheets. More often (more and more) his dreaming mind is consumed by erotic torments, exquisite sexual pleasures (things he can never have). It happens again tonight. He can feel the winds shift, breezes blowing cooly across his skin before the water pulls him under, down (and down and down) and into his dream. 

He is wrapped in warmth, cradled in Dean’s lap (he knows it is Dean without looking, somehow it always is); lava flows beneath his skin where Dean holds him, searing hand prints on his hips as he thrusts, smoothly like the rocking of the waves. Rocking together, heat building. Castiel brings his arms up, limbs deadened by the weight of the water (of the air? of the dream) around them, twines them around Dean’s shoulders, stroking his neck, his hair, his back. Fingers tracing skin and muscles (he remembers every atom).  _Cas_ , Dean breathes into his mouth,  _Cas_ , and he is burning from the inside out, white heat that obliterates his senses even as it jolts him into wakefulness. 

He is still burning, sweating and tangled in his sheets, the ache between his legs nearly blinding in its potency. He runs a sweaty palm down his chest as his other hand fists in the sheets, tugging them out of the way. His breath comes in short gasps as his fingers comb through the dark tangle of curls at the vee of his hips, a tease he can barely endure. He breathes in stuttered pants. He arches his back, pressing his hips into the air, searching for the friction and heat of an absent partner as he lets his knees fall open, thighs splayed wide. 

He ghosts his fingers along his cock, hissing at the intensity of the light contact, abdominal muscles fluttering. His hand is slick with sweat, with his own wetness. He shudders as he lets his fingers close around his length, no pressure in the grip. He thrusts his hips into that loose fist as his other hand grips his hip tightly, recalling the searing handprint of his dream. The memory is strong enough, this close to the sleep that bore it.

He releases the bruising grip on his hip, rubbing his hand down his thigh and tugging at his balls before slipping lower, trailing a finger to circle his hole. And the teasing is too much, suddenly, after the dream that had nearly been enough but wasn’t and he is starting to feel desperate. He grips his cock tightly, summoning the friction of Dean’s body against his own, pressing the tip of his finger against the furled bud of muscle as he sucks in a gasping breath. The waves capture him again, casting him adrift on the sea of his own singing nerves; his strokes are subsuming his conscious mind until he is with Dean again, hearing his own name gasped into the darkness as the heat turns to a wash of white, curling through his body like the twist of a hurricane. (He is torn apart.)

He floats slowly down, (down, and down again,) back into the ocean.  


End file.
